The Multi-Lingual Pony
© 2008 Roland Millington, All Rights Reserved
Rufus Cahill was a rough-stock breaker up by Jackson Bear
For Willis McGahee, who’d invited me up for some fresh air.
Now, Rufus was might peculiar ‘bout how things got done in his corral.
There was sweatin, and hollerin, and any hoss there weren’t his pal.
Well, ‘bout the third day I’s there, Will and me heard a big yell
It was enough to make a sailor blush, and enough for us to tell
That things just weren’t goin’ well for Rufus durin’ that there breakin’.
It was pert-darned plain to figger from the ruckus Rufus was makin.
“Now, Rufus, I done told ya, ya got to settle him down.
You cain’t go a whoopin’ it up, an’ ‘spect things to go to ground.”
It was nigh ‘bout this time, I decided to have some fun
‘Cause Will had done let me in on what was up with this one.
See, Rufus was a good rider, pert’ near nothin’ he couldn’t sit
And he had hisself a temper, but also had no quit.
So Will knew he’d just keep tryin’ no matter what he drew.
He just had to find a new way to man up and ride on through.
So I thought I’d push things along, and help out just a bit.
‘Cause I was ‘bout the same way, when I’s a little git.
So I stepped up on the fence an’ I sets to counselin’ Rufus
“You know, I’s just thinkin’ there’s somethin’ we should discuss.
“There’s maybe somethin’ you over looked with this here sunfish
“Is it possible this Pony don’t know cusswords … in English?”
Well, ol’ Rufus done looked at me like I had me an extra head,
But then he paused, and set for a moment, thinkin’ on what I said.
“You know, mister, maybe you gotcha somethin’ there.
“’Cause I was swearin’ in English while he was whippin’ air.”
“You say he don’t speak English, but I can’t cuss in Spanish
“So I s’pose I should get to talkin’ in good ol’ fashioned ‘whoopass.’”
Well, I looked at Will, and over at the stout Palomino.
Will only smirked, and I figured it best to let it go.
Rufus snubbed him down, after a twenty minute match
And got the blindfold on him, but not without a scratch.
He slick-saddled the pony, and mounted him on the fly
Ripped off the blindfold, and they both lit up to the sky.
Rufus was a’ cussin’ and I found it weren’t all true
‘Cause I think he was swearin’ in Spanish, and a little French, too!
But the Palomino was a beast, and kept on wheelin’ round
Like a bad-check passin’ salesman, he wanted outta town
He rooted and he grunted, and darned if Rufus didn’t too
Will sure was right, that boy could really hang a shoe
On danged-near any hoss, who got in his round pen
And I thought the Palomino might just give up when
All at once, that palomino cut out with a big old grunt
And Rufus lost his seat, and went flyin’ all out front
Of the stout-legged critter who was still up in the air
Shoot, ol’ Rufus couldn’t even squeak out a tiny, little prayer.
Two big legs landed astride the unhossed cowboy’s head
And Rufus musta thought for sure, he was ‘bout to come up dead.
The Palomino stepped aside of him, actin’ all polite
And Rufus, nor Will, nor me, knew what to think of that there sight.
We had figured we’s about to witness a Rufus Cahill pancake
But when that stallion side-stepped, no one knew jes how to take
The fact that Rufus was breathin’ and not smished to bits.
It was kin and testament to a hoss’ good grace and wit.
Sorta like that Palomino had hisself somethin’ to say
And once he’d said it, left it fer Rufus to sit and weigh.
It was awful quiet, in that dusty, hazy round pen.
All you could hear was the breathin’ of a hoss and three men.
Old Rufus was OK, and looked none the worse for wear.
‘Cept for his bruised-up ego, and his dinged-up derriere.
I know I shouldn’t have, but in the end I couldn’t help it.
See I used to be a Rufus, too, and had been right where he set.
So I cleared my throat, dipped my hat and looked on over at Will
And he just looked away, hopin’ Rufus’d got his fill.
“My, oh my, Rufus,” I began with great aplomb.
“That pony was part whirlwind, and part Hiroshima bomb.
“He done took you left, and you done matched him right.
“Why, you almost got him rode, son, you put up a good old fight.”
“But we’s both wrong ‘bout one thing, Rufus, my old fella.
“He’s a multi-lingual pony, in a pretty shade a’ yella.
“I know now he speaks whoopass, that much is surely true
“But you know what else, Rufus?”
“I think he speaks it better’n you.”
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